


The Last Hope

by sulkyselkie



Series: Postmortem love at first sight [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Kurapika's insane determination, M/M, Romance, The car from Yorknew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulkyselkie/pseuds/sulkyselkie
Summary: They met by chance and were parted by fate. But Kurapika cannot forget Chrollo. Despite their separate worlds, he is willing to search for a way for them to be together.Continuation of “The Last Passenger.”
Relationships: Kurapika/Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer
Series: Postmortem love at first sight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019899
Comments: 16
Kudos: 58





	The Last Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, we meet again! While I was writing “The Last Passenger,” I was intending to make it a short, one-shot ghost story. But towards the end, I started thinking about how it would be interesting to see what happens next. And then after the fic was posted, I started ruminating on the fact that my brand is essentially heartbreaking, angsty romance. I’ve never been particularly good at writing romances with happier ends, but maybe this is the time to try?
> 
> So, for those of you who would like to see Kurapika chasing after the ghost of his dreams, here is your next installment! I still think that “The Last Passenger” works well as a standalone fic, so if you liked or preferred it the way that it was, you can probably skip this one.

Was it possible to meet your soulmate after they’d died? 

It had been an ordinary day as Kurapika had hailed that cab to travel to yet another work event. It would be, he had been sure, a typical and boring ride to the airport, squeezing in some more work while trying to prevent himself from being dragged into some banal conversation with the driver.

But in the backseat had been another passenger. Chrollo, the man of Kurapika’s dreams. Tall, dark, and handsome. Cultured, eloquent, and well-read. Compassionate and wise.

And also dead.

Kurapika had never been the type to believe in love at first sight. But over the course of the taxi ride, he fell, and fell **hard**. Chrollo was everything he’d ever desired in a partner. Except, of course, the whole ‘being a ghost’ part. But that didn't seem like as much of a deal breaker as he would have thought. In the end, he wasn’t sure what he’d struggled with more: falling in love with a stranger or admitting that ghosts were real.

He’d boarded his plane almost on autopilot from the shock, and managed to force himself to think of only work for the next few days. But as soon as his head hit his pillow on Sunday night, he laid awake in bed for hours, mind feverishly working through the possibilities. The experience that he’d had Friday morning had left him too shaken to even consider spending his day off relaxing.

Had his entire encounter with Chrollo simply been a hallucination? It was certainly a possibility, but it didn’t **seem** like a hallucination. Granted, he’d never had one before, so he couldn’t say with any certainty, but...that strange gut instinct that warned him of something **different** in the taxicab, that drew his attention to Chrollo, assured him that this was real. Hesitant, Kurapika began considering every possible logical explanation, no matter how unlikely. He worked through each item on this mental list, until he found himself exhausted and facing the inevitable conclusion:

It was all real. Chrollo was real. Chrollo was dead. But **real**. 

Maybe it was simply easier to accept the fact that ghosts were real than it was to believe that he’d suddenly started experiencing complex hallucinations. The thought of calling Leorio to ask for medical advice occurred to him, but was summarily dismissed. (Leorio was a wonderful friend, but Kurapika knew he certainly wouldn’t see this situation the same way. And if he became concerned, then this had the potential to spiral out of Kurapika’s control.)

But that strange gut feeling--a sixth sense?--insisted that this wasn’t in his mind. Despite all logic, all evidence, everything that Kurapika held dear...he had fallen in love with a ghost.

In any case… What was he to do now? Kurapika hadn’t looked at the cab’s license plate (he’d had no reason to, after all), and he didn’t take notice of the cab’s registration number painted on its side. If he’d had either of those, it would have been simple to call a taxi dispatcher and request the specific car. 

HIs best bet, he eventually decided, was to call the city’s Transportation Bureau and ask to speak to anyone who worked with managing or regulating the taxicab services. In the best case scenario, perhaps there was a route map or GPS data that they could consult. If nothing else, it was a place to start.

It took less time than he’d anticipated to reach someone in the right department: a tired and prosaic-sounding woman who listened to Kurapika’s query silently. He had quickly cooked up a plausible story: he may have left a personal and sentimental item in the cab and wanted to check with the driver to see if it was there. He admitted that he had no information about the taxicab other than when and where it picked him up, but hoped that there would be some sort of records that they could check?

“Sir, there are currently 13,587 taxis registered in Yorknew City,” the woman flatly stated. “If you don’t have an employee name or a registration or license plate number, there’s not much I can do for you.”

Kurapika’s heart sank. He began to carefully press the woman for more information. She was infinitely patient with him, though entirely matter-of-fact. The upshot was that it was impossible for them to provide him with specific information, or for them to locate the driver. The most useful tidbit of information that she did provide was that drivers worked in 12-hour shifts; since Kurapika hailed the taxi at 7:00 am, his driver would have been registered for a 5:30 am to 5:15 pm shift. He had a time window. That was something, at least.

With a sigh, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table and slumped onto the couch. He had a tiny scrap of a clue, but what could he do with it? He couldn’t show up at the Transportation Bureau and watch the drivers report to work. Not unless he wanted to be arrested. Reaching out through social media would be another bust; too many opportunities for pranksters and grifters to harass him.

Sliding his eyes shut, Kurapika let his mind drift. More half-formed ideas popped into his head, each dismissed summarily. Eventually, he forced himself to admit that this was a problem that couldn’t be solved quickly. ( _But we’ve got all the time in the world; it’s not like Chrollo’s going anywhere_ , a little voice deep within quipped cheekily.) He was used to simply hammering away at a problem expediently and efficiently until it was solved, and the realization that this wouldn't be that simple depressed him a little.

But Kurapika was, if nothing else, a man of careful logic, rational and methodical to the end. And he found himself striking upon a solution that would get him his answer, albeit not as quickly as he had earlier hoped to.

Clearly, the answer was to check every taxicab in Yorknew that was available during the 5:30 a.m. to 5:15 p.m. shift.

This effectively cut the number of cars to check in half. He’d keep a spreadsheet and tally each one, narrowing down the list via process of elimination. He didn’t need to ride very long to confirm whether or not it was the right cab, as just a few minutes would do. This increased the number of taxis he could check during the 12-hour window.

He hesitated after calculating how many taxis he could check each day. If he only searched on his weekends, this would take far too long. Perhaps years. What was to say that the taxi driver wouldn’t change professions, or move to a different city...or decommission the car?

The thought of the taxicab being crushed in a compactor and left to rot in a garbage dump sent a shiver down Kurapika’s spine. _No, I have to do this as soon as possible, for as long as I can._

But there was a solution to that, too. His workplace had an extremely generous PTO allotment and policy, and allowed any accrued time to roll over into subsequent years without penalty. Kurapika, workaholic that he was, never used any. He had weeks, perhaps even a few months, accrued. 

After so much stress and sacrifice, surely he was permitted to do something recklessly self-indulgent?

MInd set, he immediately set about making calls. Nostrade was initially hesitant to allow him to cash in so much time on such short notice, but a couple of reminders from Kurapika of previous 80-hour work weeks swiftly convinced him. Melody was surprised and a little suspicious, but overall pleased that he was taking a ‘long-overdue rest’ and promised to redistribute his portion of the current projects.

Once his various daily responsibilities had been sorted, it was time to map out his strategy. Kurapika set out to the corner drugstore to purchase a map of the city, a notebook, and some red felt-tipped pens. He whiled away the evening hours deciding where to start first, drawing up charts and making notes, before going to bed early.

And thus began the strangest several weeks of Kurapika’s life yet. He settled into a daily routine of waking up at 5:00 a.m. in order to be on the streets hunting by 5:30. He would start hailing taxis, doing a quick check inside to see if he recognized the driver or if Chrollo was there. (It stood to reason that, based on Chrollo’s disappearance from the backseat, he could make himself visible at will. An empty backseat didn’t mean Chrollo wasn’t there, so he couldn’t rely on that factor by itself.) He’d have the driver take him a few blocks away, where he’d start over again. 

On an average day, Kurapika could check 7 or 8 taxicabs an hour. Rainy or particularly hot days meant more competition for cabs, and there was always a period of about an hour around the morning commute and lunchtime breaks where traffic was so heavy he would be lucky to check three cabs. The early morning was the best, since the light foot traffic meant he could easily and quickly hail and change taxis.

The hunt rapidly became all that consumed him for that 12 hour span of time. He carefully timed bathroom breaks. Meals were quick affairs from street vendors that Kurapika practically inhaled in his impatience. He took pictures of cabs outside his window when sitting in traffic to check against his records.

He was exhausted by the end of the day. He would undress, make himself a bowl of cereal or a sandwich, then sit down to compile his data before crashing. Some days he woke up so tired he wanted to cry. But the thought of seeing Chrollo again kept Kurapika going and gave him a small thread of hope to cling to.

_Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't._

The weeks passed, May fading into June, which stretched on and on. None of this was cheap, and the taxi costs were slowly mounting. But Kurapika lived frugally and had a healthy bank account that he rarely touched, so he estimated he would be fine for a while longer. In the worst case scenario, he reasoned, he could cancel some of his PTO, go back to work, and then use the PTO again once he’d saved a bit more. But it didn’t matter. He’d gladly go broke if he could accomplish his goal. All he needed was to see **him** again.

On the second-to-last Friday in June, Kurapika woke at 5:00 a.m. as usual. He showered, brushed his teeth, and dressed. He tossed his essentials into his messenger bag, took a snack and a water bottle from the kitchen, and was out the door by 5:27. The day was dawning, and Kurapika allowed himself a moment to admire it before setting out on his hunt.

The morning was a typical one, getting hotter as it progressed. At 11:23 a.m., Kurapika was seated in the back of a cab--the wrong one, yet again--as it idled in the middle of a gridlocked traffic jam in the middle of 82nd Street. Kurapika stared listlessly out the window at the traffic snarled around the block. The A/C in this cab was broken, so the windows were wide open in hopes of catching a breeze that was ultimately not forthcoming. The seats were sticky, and sweat was sliding down the back of Kurapika’s neck, matting his hair.

Just as he was wondering if he should pay the driver and leave, the taxi inched forward just enough that the edge of the cross street came into view. Kurapika’s heart stopped as his eyes rounded to an impossible degree. There, parked in front of a drugstore, was a taxi. And leaning against it, ordering food from a street vendor nearby, was a man.

The taxi driver who ferried him to the airport all those weeks ago.

Before he knew what he was doing, Kurapika’s hands were unbuckling the seatbelt and opening the door. The driver turned around and yelped, asking him what he thought he was doing. “I have to go,” Kurapika mumbled, pulling out his wallet with shaking hands and tossing several thousand jenny--more than enough to cover the fare--at the driver.

He practically threw himself out of the taxi, stumbling up the curb and staggering across the sidewalk. In a minute, he reached the cross street. The driver was still leaning against the cab, chatting with the vendor. Sweat slid down the back of Kurapika’s neck as he practically lunged into the street. _Please, please, let this be the right one_.

“Wait!” Kurapika yelled as the driver received his sandwich and stepped towards the street. “Please, wait!”

The man did a double-take when he realized that the crazy person running through the street was running to him. He didn’t seem to be too concerned after that, merely taking bites from his sandwich as he watched Kurapika weave through the cars and practically double over once he reached the side of the street.

“Ya want a lift?” The man asked in between bites as Kurapika panted, trying to regain his breath.

“Yes...do...you...rec...ognize me? You...ah...drove me...to Lingon...in May.” Kurapika wheezed, amazed at how out of shape he’d become. It was mildly embarrassing, what with everyone in the vicinity staring at the spectacle he’d made, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Pal, I drive a lot of people a lot of places. Can’t remember every single one. But if you say so, you say so.”

Kurapika panted, still trying to even his breathing. The driver uncapped a soda bottle and took a swig. “Why me? Didn’t I see ya fall out of that cab across the street? I ain’t getting anywhere faster than him, I can tell ya that much.”

“It...it has to be your cab. I’ve been looking...ev...erywhere...in Yorknew for it. It’s...ah...special, you see. I needed...to ride in it...again.”

“Lemme guess. It’s haunted, innit?” The driver took another sip of his drink, eyes boring into Kurapika’s own.

Kurapika suddenly felt immensely foolish. He’d managed to rationalize it to himself, but saying it out loud to another person was an entirely different matter. “Well, now that you say it…”

“Kinda figured. Never had luck picking up multiple passengers. They’d look in the back, and get skeeved out. Sometimes one of them’d try to sit up front instead. Some would get out in a big hurry.” He was shockingly blasé about the whole thing. 

“Please,” Kurapika begged, “drive me around the city. Do a loop around the perimeter if you have to. I don’t care what it costs.”

The driver’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. “You want me to drive around Yorknew in lunchtime rush traffic so you can have a séance in my cab’s backseat? You know how long that’s gonna take, yeah?”

“The cost is irrelevant,” Kurapika stated firmly. “I’ll pay you up front if that’s what concerns you.”

Scratching his head, the driver looked Kurapika up and down before shrugging. “It’s your money, pal. Get in. One grand tour of the Yorknew perimeter, coming up.”

The blond could have melted with relief. The driver began finishing up his meal, so Kurapika made his way to the taxi’s rear door. His hands were trembling, heart fluttering. _Please, please,_ he found himself praying, _please be there. I want to see you again. Even if it’s just one last time._ Swallowing hard, he pulled open the door and peered inside.

Kurapika wanted to burst into tears of relieved joy. For in the backseat of the taxicab was Chrollo.

He was exactly the same as Kurapika remembered, swathed in that heavy fur-lined winter coat over a button-down shirt and dress pants. Raven-hued hair fell into a pale, handsome face with a long nose and elegant cheekbones. He was leaning against the door, elbow propped against it, leaning his head into his hand.

The other man appeared far more melancholy than Kurapika remembered, staring pensively out the window. His full, pale lips were tilted downward, a frown creasing his brow. Kurapika had the urge to smooth that furrow out with his fingers, to cradle his face in his hands. 

The blond’s voice caught in his throat for a moment, overwhelmed by emotion. “Chrollo,” he breathed, his voice husky and low.

It was like deja vu, watching Chrollo start a little before slowly turning to face the other door. The brunet’s gorgeous gray eyes became impossibly wide as he caught sight of the blond. The melancholy in his eyes drained away to be replaced with something else: the look of a man who has ceased hoping, only to have what he desperately dreamed of offered to him once more.

“Kurapika,” he whispered. “Is it really you?” The blond nodded, eyes locked with the other man. “You came back. How did you find me?” Chrollo’s voice was tight with emotion: bewilderment, longing, disbelief.

The younger man slid into the backseat, shutting the door behind him. “I started hailing as many taxis as possible a few weeks ago. 12 hours a day, every day. I swore I wouldn’t stop until I found this one again.”

“I...can’t believe what I’m hearing. You chased down hundreds of taxicabs in a city of this size? Just to find **me**?”

“I couldn’t let it end like that.”

Chrollo gazed at him with something just shy of adoration. That look spread warmth through Kurapika’s body, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

The engine of the taxi suddenly started, so Kurapika hastily buckled his seatbelt. Then, they were pulling away from the curb and delving into the fray of lunchtime traffic. The partition between the front and back seats was closed, but Kurapika could hear the driver cheerfully whistling, no doubt appreciative of how much Kurapika’s ‘grand tour’ would pull in.

“I don’t believe there’s a proper way to introduce the topic, but...if you’re here, then you’ve surely realized exactly what I am?” asked Chrollo with a crooked smile.

Nodding, the blond ran his tongue over his dry lips. “I suppose I should have perceived it during our conversation, but after you disappeared without leaving the car, it was fairly obvious that you were a...ghost,” Kurapika felt a little odd stating it out loud. 

The other man nodded, but said nothing. Kurapika took that as a cue to continue.

“I never believed in the supernatural. It was all superstitious nonsense that didn’t belong in the modern era. But meeting you was…” Kurapika trailed off. The famous words of a scholar confronted with the ghost of his friend’s father flashed to mind. “...Wondrous strange,” he murmured.

Chrollo chuckled. “And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things in heaven and earth, Kurapika, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Kurapika found his lips quirking into a smile. “I missed you,” he found himself saying, unbidden.

“As did I.” Chrollo’s liquid gray eyes were looking back at him with open fondness. 

Part of Kurapika was melting in relief that Chrollo still felt the same way he had all those weeks ago. That he was pleased and flattered by Kurapika’s devotion. The memory of Chrollo’s words and his tender glances had been enough to fuel Kurapika during the long days and nights, during the moments where he idly wondered if he was crazy for doing all of this. 

But that look in Chrollo’s eyes solidified Kurapika’s resolve and strengthened his feelings. Perhaps Kurapika **was** crazy for falling in love with a stranger and a ghost. But by the same turn, Chrollo was **just** as crazy for falling in love with a stranger and a human.

“From your earlier words, it sounded like you were confined to this car. Searching the city for the right taxicab was my last hope to see you again,” Kurapika told him.

“Ah, I see,” Chrollo nodded. “Well, as you correctly surmised, I am indeed unable to leave the backseat of this taxicab. My days are spent traveling around Yorknew. There are worse places to haunt, one could argue.”

“You don’t get bored?”

“During the evenings, I do. I’m stuck in the parking garage, with nothing to look at but concrete columns and other taxis,” the brunet explained. “The daytime provides more entertainment, though. I enjoy watching the city change. Like watching a child grow up, I suppose.”

“How long has it been?” Kurapika's throat was tight. If there was etiquette for talking to a ghost about the circumstances of their demise, he didn't know any. Hell, he had a hard enough time with etiquette and the living.

“I'm not sure anymore,” Chrollo said softly. “Five years, maybe six. After the first few years, I stopped counting.”

Kurapika’s heart sank. “You’ve been trapped here for that long? And you said you can’t leave...so you can’t touch anything?”.

"Correct. I simply pass right through. For example, my hand will go through the door handle, although it cannot fully pass through the door."

"And you can't remove your clothing? You're just...stuck in them? Oh...perhaps I shouldn't have asked that," Kurapika mumbled.

"Why, did you want to try removing them?"

Kurapika hadn’t expected that, and furiously blushed, eyes popping wide. As he tried to splutter out a reply, Chrollo laughed. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. I wouldn’t mind if you **could** , though,” he teased.

It wasn’t that Kurapika was an innocent virgin, but he would admit he was a bit more prudish than his friends. He wasn’t used to such open, brazen teasing. (But he wasn’t wholly... **displeased** that Chrollo was doing it, though he would refuse to admit that openly.)

“Let’s change the subject,” Kurapika stammered before taking a deep breath to compose himself. Willing the blood to recede from his cheeks, he cleared his throat.

“We talked mostly about our hobbies last time. Could you tell me more about yourself? What was your occupation? Did you have any family?”

“Well, I worked in the...importing and exporting industry.” Chrollo noticeably hesitated at that last part, which seemed slightly odd. “My work was my lover, you could say.” Kurapika’s chest warmed at that, which seemed vaguely ridiculous to him. Even if Chrollo had had a lover, his death would have meant they broke up, right? But then what did that mean for him? Why did he feel relieved?

“No family, but I had very close friends that I worked with. They were as near to family as you can get, I think. I wonder how they're doing?” He mused wistfully, eyes gazing into the middle distance.

“Do you...ever want to try seeing them?” Kurapika could come up with something, maybe have the taxi parked outside their workplace if he got the address...

Chrollo's eyes darkened with pain. “It's pointless. Not many people can see me. Fewer can talk to me. You're the only one who didn't exit the cab immediately after realizing I was there.” The older man fell silent, then shook his head. “It would simply be too painful, to be next to them but unable to see or speak with each other.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize, I…”

“Don’t apologize,” Chrollo said firmly. “It’s what I deserve.”

Well, **that** piqued Kurapika’s interest. “...What do you mean by that?” Did he detect a faint hint of bitterness in Chrollo’s voice?

The other man seemed to realize what he’d just said. “It’s nothing. Pay it no heed.”

“Be honest with me, why do you feel that you deserve **this**?” Kurapika gestured to their surroundings. “Do you believe that this is some sort of punishment?” he insisted.

The brunet shook his head. “No, Kurapika, I--”

"I have chased down every taxi in Yorknew to find you; so at the very least, you could be more forthcoming," Kurapika gritted between his teeth.

Chrollo was silent for a few more moments. "In life, I was not a very good person, Kurapika," he said finally. "I did what I had to do to stay alive, and yet, even when it became unnecessary, I continued my ways."

"...do you think you're going to Hell?" Kurapika asked quietly. Chrollo didn't seem like a particularly religious person, but...

"Perhaps," Chrollo mused thoughtfully. "I never really believed in the afterlife, but I did believe in the existence of the soul. Now that the latter has been proven to me, the former is possible. But it's just a possibility."

“I...I see,” Kurapika murmured before falling silent. He didn’t, not exactly, but he felt compelled to say **something**. He fiddled with the silver chain bracelet around his wrist, unsure of what to do next.

Sinking back onto the seat cushions, Chrollo tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “I don't really understand why I'm here,” he confessed. “All the ghost stories I remember hearing when I was alive provided reasons for a spirit to linger. Strong emotional attachments like anger or fear, protecting loved ones, enacting vengeance... I have nothing like that. I don't understand myself. I must have a reason for being here, and yet..." he shrugged. "There you have it, I suppose."

"Hey, I hate to interrupt your whatever-you're-doing,” the driver hollered suddenly, “but we're almost-"

"Another loop around the city!" Kurapika barked, in blind frustration. He'd expense it out, Nostrade wouldn't notice or care.

Chrollo lightly chuckled at Kurapika’s huffing in annoyance as he straightened up in his seat. The younger man sighed and shifted his attention back to Chrollo. The poignancy of the other man’s confession had touched him deeply. While Kurapika’s goal had been met, Chrollo had just revealed one of his own. Some deep part of Kurapika, restless and eager, was surging forward at the prospect of hunting for Chrollo’s answer. Well. It was natural to want to help the one you loved, wasn’t it?

“What if...I were to help you? Find your reason for haunting, I mean.” 

The older man blinked, clearly not having expected Kurapika to make such an offer. “Kurapika, you can’t mean...you have done so much for me already. I can’t have you throwing yourself into searching for an answer that might not even **exist**.”

Kurapika leaned towards Chrollo, unconsciously reaching out. “I want to help you. Please. We’re together now. If you can’t leave this car, then I can be your hands and feet. I’ll help you find the answer to yourself. **Please** , Chrollo.”

He suddenly realized that Chrollo wasn’t looking at him, but down at the seat. Kurapika followed his gaze to realize that he was cupping Chrollo’s hand. Both men stared in astonished silence.

Slowly, gently, Kurapika squeezed Chrollo’s hand. He...could feel it. It didn’t entirely feel like holding a human hand--the temperature wasn’t quite right, the texture felt a little off--but he could **feel** it. Chrollo was solid, corporeal. **How** , he had no clue. But he wasn’t going to waste precious time questioning this.

“I...I don’t believe it,” Chrollo whispered, voice wavering. “How…?” His thumb stroked Kurapika’s hand reverently. Tears began to gather in Chrollo’s eyes. “It’s been so long since I could touch anyone.” 

“I have no idea. But don’t you see? You and I… This is **right** ,” Kurapika insisted. “So please...let me help you however I can. It’s all I want.”

“Very well,” Chrollo acquiesced. “But I don’t want you to go overboard with this; I want you to take time for yourself when you can. I deeply appreciate what you want to do for me, but your happiness and relaxation is just as important.”

Warmth bloomed in Kurapika’s chest as he nodded eagerly. Chrollo’s eyes were alive with affection, gratitude, and wonder as he tenderly brushed his fingers over Kurapika’s knuckles. Heart swelling with joy, Kurapika leaned forward and pressed his lips to Chrollo’s cheek. It was as pale, smooth, and cool as porcelain, albeit softer to the touch. But it was there; a cheek he shouldn’t have been able to kiss, but could.

“How wondrous strange,” Chrollo murmured.

Kurapika laughed, delighted. “I’ll see you next week. It’s a promise.”

_~fin~_

**Author's Note:**

> So to recap, Chrollo is a ghost who haunts the backseat of a Yorknew taxicab. Kurapika shares a ride with him, falls head over heels in love with him, and is not dissuaded even when learning he's dead, so he ends up chasing down every taxicab in the city to find the right one.
> 
> Somehow I wind up quoting Shakespeare in each one of these. Huh.
> 
> I should state now that there will be a third and final installment in this mini-series that will wrap up all of the loose ends I’ve left dangling. I hope you've enjoyed watching Kurapika's fight to be reunited with the ghost of his dreams; there's more to come!


End file.
